


Peter's Heart

by ThetenthtenbeingofTen



Series: Thorny Dawn Universe [4]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Abuse, Disfigurement, Gay Male Character, M/M, Masturbation, Obsession, Piercings, Psychological Trauma, Sadism, Self-Hatred, Yaoi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-22 11:38:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13763322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThetenthtenbeingofTen/pseuds/ThetenthtenbeingofTen
Summary: Neither Peter nor Menina could have ever prepared themselves for this chance meeting, but here they are. Face to face with each other's nemesis - or are they? The secrets of Mihail's heart bring both together... even if just for a while.





	Peter's Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Peter and Menina meet by chance. A lot of things are revealed, and a lot remain untold…
> 
> Warnings: Abuse, self-hatred, sadism, piercings, disfigurement, trauma, masturbation

Nonsense, many would say. He doesn't and neither do you.  
You can't  
He could; and he did.  
Still did.  
He loved Ria.

He had met him at school, nothing exciting.  
It's almost embarrassingly normal.  
They talked, liked each other, became friends; lovers… Mihail was almost 17 back then and Peter himself had been 20.  
The school-library had hired him as an assistant, to work there part-time, sorting books.  
He was almost done with his training to become a piercer and tattoo-artist.  
Well, he'd be allowed to pierce people soon. Tattooing would come after that.  
The body-mod-shop he had an apprenticeship with was owned by his relative, so he wanted to take his place as owner once he retired.  
But those were dreams back then, barely more.  
Dreams that began to more and more involve a certain blue-eyed teenager.  
Oh, did he feel dirty… desiring such a young person to be his muse… a guy at that…  
Beautiful, young, untouched and unmarked Mihail… his Ria.

Ria had told him about his middle name about a week before they confessed to each other.  
He had visited Peter at the library on a late shift under the guise of looking for a book.  
They had been talking about this and that, school, friends and such when Mihail dropped his library-card and Peter picked it up – without looking at it. Maybe he had been trying to be polite; maybe it just didn't occur to him to look.  
He had smiled at Mihail, holding out the card; but Mihail didn't take it it.  
He wrapped his fingers around Peter's hand, instead of grabbing the card, and turned Peter's hand around, so the name written on the back of the card could be seen.  
And Peter looked.  
_Mihail Ria Kruma._  
“Don't tell anyone”, Mihail had whispered.  
“I won't. Ria” Peter had promised.

Since then he called Mihail by his secret middle-name; at first he always made sure nobody was around when he did, but later both stopped caring and Peter never stopped calling him Ria ever again.

He liked the name. The sound of it and the meaning it had for them.

There was something so thrilling, so intimate and sweet about calling the name during sex.  
Mihail's cries were so much more raw, real, and heartfelt when Peter whispered the name into his ear with each thrust.  
Oh, had he felt dirty… defiling Ria, his very own muse, his boy, his love… He was taking the Mihail everyone knew and made him into Ria, his perfect possession.

Looking back on it he felt sick, remembering his own possessive urges and desires. He takes a sip of his coffee to wash away the bitter taste of guilt on his tongue.

The need to mark Ria as his own, to make him his and his alone, had been growing oh so fast… his first true love had changed him; made him unhinged and feral...

Dangerous… 

Ria's sweet cries of pleasure soon weren't enough, so he slapped his round, firm ass, relishing in the new tone of Ria's moans.  
Much too soon that wasn't enough anymore either… so he hit him harder, bit and scratched him, cut and punched him...

To this day he vividly remembers Ria's shivering body, his damp skin and the frantic puffs of hot breath against his hand, his tingling skin…

He understood that it hurt; that his impulses should scare Ria and him; that he should worry, but instead of fear, all he felt was lust.

White-hot lust, a coiling spring in his stomach that was slowly pulled more taut with each scream and cry that he drew from Ria.  
Before long it was too late and he couldn't go back to how it was before.

Ria had cried so pitifully and Peter had felt so horrible about his tears – not only because he felt guilty for causing those tears to flow, but even more so because they turned him on.

He'd promised to be gentle, to take it easy, but he didn't get hard.  
Fear had gripped his heart, afraid to lose Ria over his dysfunction. He had fulfilled his promise, most gently and lovingly taking care of Ria's bruised body, but he hadn't been able to perform as usual. At first he had thought, it'd been just a one-time-issue, but when they tried again, and again, the true problem became evident.  
He was broken.

He was hooked on Ria's pain and as it is with most drugs, enough soon wasn't what it used to be.

He began to crave the sweet taste of Ria's blood and tears, the scent of fear in his sweat…  
he craved the feeling of Ria's muscles, his desperate fight to break free… his ears ached from listening to Ria's screams but the hollow ringing left there in silence felt so much worse.  
Peter's hands grew calloused and rough from hitting Ria time and time again, his nails grew dull from scratching Ria's skin… while Ria's skin became more and more scarred…

He never hurt Ria in anger though; only lust.  
To this day Peter wasn't sure if that fact spoke for or against him, but he wanted to believe that it made him a little less horrible. What was the thinking...

It made him sicker, not kinder. Maybe he wasn't cruel… maybe but he was sick; fucked up; undeserving of Ria's affection, of his respect and time… He had made Ria his own, and now… now he didn't deserve him anymore.  
He had lost the right to call Ria his own when he took his eye.

Peter felt sick to his stomach. He lowered his hand, suddenly unable to take another bite from his pretzel.  
All of a sudden the familiar scent of freshly baked bread wasn't comforting. It's familiarity became painful to bear.  
The warmth of it reminded Peter of Ria's skin, the scent reminded him of their breakfasts in bed when Ria was in too much pain to sit at the table.  
The taste of coarse salt from his buttered pretzel reminded Peter of Ria's blood, his tears; the taste of coffee reminded Peter of Ria's hair, it's scent…  
Suddenly, without him being able to stop them, tears sprang to his eyes.  
He missed his Ria, he so desperately missed him. The time he'd spent in prison, alone – not entirely, but without Ria – was terrible. He lived day by day thinking of a sweeter time with Ria by his side.  
Maybe he was obsessed, maybe he was insane beyond saving.

Surely he was.  
He was a man who couldn't fucking get it up unless he hurt his partner. Surely he was beyond saving.  
Peter looked at his meal – almost finished pretzel, black coffee with a single spoonful of sugar – he had intended to buy fruit at the grocery store after eating, but he couldn't bring up the desire to eat anymore.  
Maybe it was his way of punishing himself.

What was he thinking… he has already been punished. He has spent two years in prison and another in a mental hospital.  
But honestly… he still didn’t feel like he deserved to be here. To be out, free, walking the same streets as his Ria.

He hadn’t laid a hand on anyone after Ria.

Appetite lost, he stood up and brought his dishes to the counter. With an apologetic look he bid goodbye to the lady behind the it and left the bakery. He almost ran into a girl, who was about to enter the shop.  
“I’m sorry!”, she said, and he recognized her once he looked down. He stopped.  
“Don’t be”, he said, looking down at her. His feelings were stirred up already, and seeing her did nothing to calm him.  
“Aren’t you Ria’s girl?”, he asked, only realizing the intimidating tone in his voice when she stared at him with a terrified expression.  
“Sorry”, he said quickly. She shook her head at him.  
“I am”, she muttered.

He should leave. Bid goodbye to her and go. He should. He should. He should.

“May… I talk to you?”

He wants to take the words back as soon as he’s said them. To his surprise, she doesn’t immediately refuse.  
She doesn’t refuse at all, in the end.

Mena tried to tell herself – while she waited in line at the bakery – that she really should have said no and ran away. She tried to convince herself that she didn’t need to hear the story, especially not from this bastard, that if she’d hear it from anyone, it should be Mihail… but… 

She couldn't stop herself.

She stands just outside the bakery, looking at the tall, broad-shouldered man who had waited for her. A man with reddish eyes and salty streaks on his cheeks.

The same man who blinded, who mutilated, who… 

“I… need to text Mihail”, she started and reached into the pocket of her navy denim jacket.  
“Go ahead”, Peter said with a kind smile and raised both hands to indicate his permission.  
Mena opened Whatsapp and wrote a quick message to Mihail. She felt bad for it somehow, even though she wasn’t technically lying.  
‘Ran into an acquaintance. Gonna take a walk’, she wrote.  
Moments later came a reply.  
A voice message.

Mena looked up at Peter. Was it okay to listen to Mihail’s message with Peter nearby? Would it trigger him into cruelty? Was it… was it even… was that it?

Peter raised an eyebrow.  
“It’s a voice message”, Mena mumbled hesitantly. What would Peter do with this…?  
“Go ahead. Listen to it”, he said, still smiling, but Mena sensed a shift in his aura. He seemed tenser now, more alert.  
Mena still hesitated.  
“Will you listen too?”, Mena asked, and immediately realized that she’d struck a nerve when Peter winced.  
“I… I’m…”, Peter tried but stopped. He sighed deeply before looking at Mena with an expression she couldn't hope to discern.  
“Just … allow me to listen to his voice”, he pleaded. Right now, Mena thought, he looks incredibly lost. The sentiment came to her as quickly as it passed, leaving her confused by her own mind.  
She hit the play-button on her phone before she could think about it any more.

“All right”, Mihail’s voice calmly said over a sizzle in the background, “just come back within an hour, if you want to have lunch with me. If not, I’ll put away your share, so you can re-heat that. I’ll be out working later. You brought your keys, right? Also, say hi to your friend from me, if you like, and have fun.”  
The message ended.

Somehow Mena and Peter were left frozen in place by the lingering echo of Mihail’s voice. For a moment both stood still. Peter averted his eyes and started walking.

Mena followed and tucked her phone away, as though she could protect Mihail like this, as though the phone that had just played Mihail’s voice was somehow linked to the real person.

Peter on the other hand, was bewildered.

Mihail’s voice, his tone was so different from the way he had remembered it. It was in fact so different that Peter thought of this person as Mihail rather than Ria.  
Ria was… softer; sweeter; purer and submissive.

But then, there was a familiar undertone in his voice, one that Peter had learned to read like a book, back when they were still together.

Peter knew that Ria was cooking for Mena, not himself. He deliberately made more than enough, so that she’d be fine throughout the evening, while he’d be away. He trusted her enough to let her have the keys to his apartment – it was his, not theirs, right?  
It had to be. Mena wasn’t his girlfriend, even though it kinda looked like it.  
She wasn’t his type.  
She was too sweet, too subservient and young for him. He wouldn’t lay a hand on her.

His words were coded; laced with care and worry, with affection and sympathy. But no love.  
Peter wondered if the girl understood; any of it.

He looked at her.  
“What?”, she asked immediately, threatened by his mere presence. Being looked at by him, scared her.  
“Sorry. I was thinking”, Peter said.  
Mena didn’t like that answer at all.  
She didn’t want this man to be thinking no matter what it was about. In her mind, all he could ever think about would be horrible, cruel; too sadistic for her innocent brain to imagine.

“About what?”, she asked, voice dripping with venom. “About how to better get rid of me, so you can have your way with Mihail as you did before?” Her voice was little more than a hiss.  
Peter raised an eyebrow at her, seemingly surprised by her image of him.  
“Now, little princess”, Peter started, calmly but with a sharp tone to his words, “I don’t really know what Ria told you about me, but I am not… like that”

Mena was dumbstruck.

Peter didn’t seem like a person who’d deny their guilt, his behavior when he reunited with Mihail that day had been too true, to deep to be fake.  
Peter wasn’t incapable of compassion… Mena felt stupid for only now realizing that. All the hatred she had spat at him before now felt misplaced, and she almost wondered, if she should actually apologize.

“No matter what you think, no matter what he thinks, I know I love him”, Peter admitted, tilting his head up into the sky.  
Mena scoffed.  
“I mean it. I really do”, Peter insisted.  
“You wouldn’t have done those things to him if you did”

“He enjoyed it though. He loved me too”  
Mena glared at Peter.  
“As if”  
“Ask him if you don’t believe me”

Mena couldn’t say anything to that. She lowered her head and kept her mouth shut.

“Has he ever told you that story?”, Peter asked.  
Mena shook her head in confusion.  
“What story?”, she asked.  
“Ours. How all of it happened”, Peter clarified.  
Mena shook her head again, pushing her loose fringe back behind her ear.

Peter and her had been walking down the main street for a while now, getting close to the train station.  
They made a u-turn and started walking back. Meanwhile, Peter told the story as he remembered it.

About his muse, about young Mihail. He told the story of how Mihail became Ria, and how the name Ria became a symbol for their bond.  
He spoke about all the things that Mena had wanted to know, and about those that she now wished, she hadn’t wanted to know.  
But nevertheless, she listened as this cruel, dangerous man told a story that was so unlike anything she ever imagined.

“And one day…” Peter sighed deeply and paused. Nausea crept back up his throat, guilt strangled him with a tattered rope, and hateful lust coiled in his gut.  
“One day… you know I already cut him back then. That day, I wanted to do it again. So I brought a clean knife to the bed while he still slept. And I… sat on the edge of it”, Peter swallowed hard, “with the knife in my hand”

Mena said nothing.  
“I held it away from him and bent down to kiss him awake. And he was so gorgeous, how he moved slowly, still in pain from last night… raw, barely closed cuts aching…” Peter’s eyes misted over and his cheeks grew hotter.  
Mena wanted to kick him, but didn’t dare to. She felt like she had to see this to understand it.  
Even though Peter’s mind and love were still a total mystery to her.  
“Sorry. It’s been so long since… never mind”, Peter huffed briefly, almost chuckling at himself and his urges.  
“I started… touching him. Gently at first, but then… I grabbed him harder, held him tighter… and he started to struggle. He usually did that, it was part of the game. But then he struggled harder, he cried… he screamed and it turned me on”

Mena bit her lip, eyes burning with fear and shame.  
She felt like she was condoning a crime, like she was taking part in it.  
Like she was enjoying it.

Even though the mere thought of it scared her.

“I wanted to cut his chest lightly, to lick his wounds while I fucked him… but he moved suddenly. The knife slashed him across the face… and he tried to fight me off. He landed a hit and the knife went flying, but I was already too… caught up in the moment. I ran after him, we broke a vase and he fell into it. He still struggled… and I still fought to hold him down… I hit him in the face… he nearly passed out then already, but I didn’t stop. I kept going until he stopped moving entirely. No sound, no nothing”

Mena didn’t dare to look at Peter, hearing the tears in his choked up voice far too clearly. She wasn’t sure what it would do to her, to look at a man like that.  
What it would do to her, to see a horrible, cruel, sick man like him cry.

She was afraid it would corrupt her somehow.

“The rest doesn’t matter”, Peter said, cutting off any questions Mena might think to ask.

 

Their paths separated once they got back to the bakery where they’d met.

Mena went back to Mihail’s place and Peter went to buy fruit at the grocery store after all. He knew he had to live off of something, and he knew, he’d grow hungry sooner or later anyways.  
So he strolled through the isles, looking at fruits without actually seeing any of them.

When he gets home he unpacks his bag, almost surprised to see the red apples he’d bought.

But how could he think of fruit, when the memory of Ria’s cries was playing on repeat in his head? The young voice was so clear still, calling his name in desperation, while he didn’t listen.

Peter stood in front of his tiny desk and pulled out a file. His and Ria’s file. There he knew, were the photos of that day.  
Reminders of how beautiful Ria once had been; and how badly he himself had fucked it up.

And yet, despite the fact that he understood the damage he’d inflicted upon his beloved, just looking at the pictures awoke something within him.  
The pit inside his stomach, which had been empty for so long he’d almost forgotten about it, started to fill with boiling hot desire.  
Soon flames were licking through his veins, and the taste of salt and iron that had made him cry earlier, now chanted his name seductively.  
The memory of Ria’s cries became a siren song, and before he could stop himself, he had dropped to his knees, bracing one hand against the desk, while the other hastily unbuckled his belt and freed his throbbing cock.

Ria’s name was on his lips and he closed his eyes, thinking back to the beautiful body of the one man he loved.  
Because he really did. He truly, truly did. 

And he still does.

He came, rutting into his hand a few more times before crumbling into a pile of sorrow. He cried because it still felt wrong.  
Because this orgasm was nothing but a faint shadow compared to the amazing climaxes he had experienced with Ria.  
Because the dry grip of his hand could never compare to the damp heat of Ria’s hole contracting around his length when they both came together.

If only he could go back… but he can’t.  
He knows he can’t.

Ria has moved on; has healed; has changed… ‘Not... not enough’, Ria’s broken voice came to Peter.

 

He stared at the wall on the other end of the room and wondered what Ria had meant by that. He hadn’t changed enough…  
Peter had commented on Ria’s appearance when Ria had said that. So did he mean, he wanted to change himself even more? So much that Peter wouldn’t recognize him anymore? No… Peter shook his head and got up, tucking his limp member back into his underpants and walked to the bathroom. He washed his hands and splashed his face with cold water.  
At least now he could pretend like he hadn’t actually cried.

Ria had never been a punk, or anything like that. He liked to be unique, but not to stand out from a crowd; and if he had to stand out, he’d prefer to stand out for the right reasons.  
Ria had held Peter’s hand when they were walking around together, because he wanted to be seen, he wanted to be recognized for who he was.  
But he rarely wore the piercings – the visible ones – when they went out.

But now, Ria wore all his piercings; their silver color standing out against his warm skin tone. He had also dyed his hair hot pink, a color that’s nearly impossible to overlook in a crowd.

So why and how had Ria changed like this, if not to attract attention…? Peter started to feel sick.  
Oh no…

The fringe, covering half of Mihail’s face, the piercings, the hair… all to take attention away from the scars, impossible though it was.

Peter swallowed hard and left the bathroom. He had to do something to distract himself, or else he’d think back to the worst day of his life.

Ria’s girl probably thought that he’d just left Ria to die after he passed out, but in fact, he hadn’t. Peter had stopped immediately; pulling out, erection lost. He had checked Ria’s vital signs and called an ambulance, still in shock at his own actions.  
How could he have gone so far? How…?

He had held Ria in his arms until the paramedics arrived, repeating “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Ria. I did this, forgive me” over and over like a prayer.

Once they arrived at the hospital Ria was taken away to be saved, while Peter was taken to another room, where they sedated him and made him lie down until his shock subsided.

By then police had been informed, and he hadn’t been allowed to come near or even just see Ria anymore.  
The last time he’d seen Ria before being taken to jail was during the court trial. Ria had been trembling, barely able to sit on his own and barely able to talk. But he had talked.  
Saying things that cut into Peter’s heart like knives.

Peter had roared, yelled, screamed at Ria to snap out of it. When he was restrained and held back, he cried that he loved him, that he’d never meant to take it so far, that he was sorry.  
But Ria was taken away again.

He hadn’t seen him since – until after he got out and ran into him in front of that bakery.

 

When Mena got back, she had almost forgotten about the bag of bread she had been holding all this time. As she stood in the hallway she had looked at it in confusion, before it clicked. She put the bread away and undressed. Neither her nor Mihail had a problem with skin, so she often lounged on his couch in nothing but her underwear. Sometimes she wore a shirt, but today she couldn’t be bothered to pick one out from her part of the wardrobe in the bedroom.

She was cold though, evening air wafting in through the open living room window, so she wrapped herself in one of Mihail’s blankets.

It was white with black tiger stripes. Mena wondered why Mihail had a purple couch with leopard print in the first place, but hey, the blankets fit in with the theme, so it looked like it was on purpose.

Mena hadn’t realized that she’d fallen asleep until she felt that somebody moved her. It was Mihail, of course. He had just been about to pick her up to carry her to bed when she opened her eyes.  
“Mihail!”, she called out and smiled.  
“Hey”, he said softly and let her down on the couch again. She blinked a few times.  
“You didn’t eat”, Mihail said, brushing back a strand from her bangs. Mena squinted for a few seconds, piecing together what had happened before she’d fallen asleep.  
“Oh right!”, she called out when she finally remembered, and immediately her enthusiasm faltered. She had spoken to Peter.

She felt like she had betrayed Mihail.

“Mena?”, Mihail asked when he saw her mood shift, “Mena, did something happen?”, he got up and turned the light on in the living room, so he could see her face better.

Mena felt exposed, like her betrayal was hidden beneath nothing but her thin, pale skin; like Mihail would take revenge on her once he’d find out and rip her apart.  
No… what was she thinking.

Mihail knelt in front of her, gripping both her arms and nudged her till she looked at him, eyes wide with concern and fear.  
He had never wanted her to get hurt. He had taken her under his wings to prevent that from ever happening, to protect her… so why was she so distraught now? Why did she look like she was about to cry?  
“Mena!”  
“Nothing”, she muttered meekly. Mihail stopped.  
“Nothing happened. Just… the talk was a bit… uhm… difficult”, she stammered. She hoped he wouldn’t ask any questions, that he would just take that as an explanation, that he’d let it go if she’d ask him to.  
Mihail let go of her arms, hand sliding down until his hands lied on top of her thighs.  
“Really?”, he asked compassionately.  
“Yeah”, she smiled at him. A fake smile, both knew that. But Mihail understood, and he let her go.

“Are you hungry?”, Mena asked, getting up after Mihail.  
“A little”, he replied.  
“Then, lets have dinner”

Mihail agreed and heated up two plates of spaetzle with cheese and roasted onions. They sat on the couch, both with their plates and watched the news and weather forecast on the TV.  
“Impossible, this guy”, Mihail commented and shook his head at one of the reports. Mena chewed her spaetzle.  
“How in the world can he not realize that he’s sprouting utter nonsense?”, Mihail asked and shoved a bunch of spaetzle into his mouth, pressing the fork to his lip in mild annoyance.  
“My friend’s dad always says something like, you gotta be smart enough to realize your own stupidity. So this guy is just really, really dumb”, Mena mumbled.  
“Maybe. That sounds about right”, Mihail murmured and sighed, “But why does he have to be president of all things?!”

Mena shrugged and ate more.  
She threw surreptitious glances at Mihail, watching his adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallowed.  
“Doesn’t it hurt?”, she blurted out after swallowing her last mouthful of spaetzle.

Mihail lowered his fork and looked at her with his one visible eyebrow raised.  
Mena tapped her own chin, suddenly too nervous to speak out loud.  
“Ah”, Mihail sighed and leaned back against the cushions.  
“No. Not anymore. I mean, you hear me. My voice is forever broken, but it doesn’t hurt anymore”

Mena’s eyes widened.  
“Wait, did… was… were your vocal chords injured?”  
Mihail sighed.  
“I fell into the shards of a vase, and a long one pierced my… throat”  
Mena swallowed hard.  
“… how…”

Mihail looked at her.  
“It’s…” He was frantically trying to find a way to talk around it. To not put a point on it, to not spell it out. But he couldn’t.  
The way she looked at him… he knew she’d know if he lied.

“Peter… was chasing me. We knocked over that vase and I fell. He brought me to the hospital…” Mihail choked up.

Mena lowered her head.  
‘He enjoyed it though. He loved me too… Ask him if you don’t believe me’ Peter’s voice came back to her memory, even if she tried to repress it.  
But now, looking at Mihail, seeing the deeply suppressed pain in his expression, she couldn’t help herself.

“Did you love him?”

Mihail looked at her.  
Shock, exasperation, desperation, fear and anger all flashed across his face, expression flickering like a flame caught in a gust of wind.  
In the end, exasperation faded into anger, and anger turned into disgust… before there was pain… and then tears.

“I did”

“Do you still love him?”, Mena barely heard her own voice but she might as well have screamed the question into Mihail’s ear.  
He winces and turns his face away.


End file.
